Get a Life
by Requiem Hearts
Summary: Scarab's got problems; BIG problems and his withering health is not even the sum of it. Soul-sucking fiends, Mistaken Identities, Dead Overloads and classic mummy antics abound! What more can you expect in a MA fiction?


Disclaimer: Man, it's a wonder I haven't gotten tired of writing these. Mummies Alive! And all related characters and storylines are a property of DIC(k) entertainment. This story is no way an infringement on copyright laws. It was written purely for fan fun.  
  
** Get A Life  
  
A Mummies Alive! Fan Fiction Story  
  
Written by Monica Kactz A.K.A Sekhmet  
  
Heka exploded an exasperated sigh.  
  
The reflection of the woman staring back at her wore an expression of outmost disgust. Disgust for the orange tresses styled crudely in a choppy bob that framed her angular face unflatteringly; disgust for the sharply pointed nose drawing a jagged line down a yellowed face; disgust for the highly arched eyebrows that were most obviously penciled in and disgust for the heavy layer of make-up that blanketed her eyelids in a dark-purple haze.  
  
How did humans do it? How could they cope with the sickly feeling of warm blood coursing through their veins? How could they possibly deal with an enigma of limbs and muscles and function them all properly with a natural equilibrium? How could they possibly wear these things.  
  
Of course, as if expertly mastering the ability to walk without falling over was not some noble-prize winning accomplishment, Heka was unfortunate to learn that the females of the species simply insisted on making such a mundane task considerably more difficult.  
  
Heka needed to rest; she was sure there was a blister just bubbling away under the freakishly smooth skin of her ankle (she nearly chuckled out loud at that notion; she was usually more accustomed to having scales rather than ankles.)  
  
She stopped to lean against a brick-wall with a dire attempt to fix her shoe. Unfortunately, she wasn't quite accustomed to one-legged balance just yet and found herself topping face-over-heels onto hard pavement and outwardly cursing the bastard who voluntarily decided to add stilts to women's footwear.  
  
Oh, the dirty irony of it all! Just this morning she was comfortably nestled in her basket, dozing the early hours away while Scarab decided to make himself an early breakfast. There was a catastrophic clanging coming from the kitchen, the opening and slamming of several cupboard doors and the swish-bang of drawers being frantically search---then the inevitable "HEKA!" bellowing across the headquarters. She knew she shouldn't have even bothered slithering out of her niche. The ratio of something good coming out of the whole ordeal was certainly not in her favor.  
  
Milk. All this ridiculous torture to get a grouchy old sorcerer's grocery list.  
  
"The things I do for him," Heka muttered, getting up off the pavement and dusting herself off.  
  
The midmorning rush on the crowded San Francisco streets was slowly settling about the city like an intricate fog. People bustled by to and fro in busy blurs of purses, coats and dress shoes; coming together like opposing waves clashing against the shore, and exploding in either which direction. The noise level was rising, the atmosphere a putrid mixture of confused babble, car horns and air pollution. Traffic resumed its clustered norm of rude cab drivers, impatient business persons and cell phone-toting pedestrians.  
  
Life was finally flowing through San Francisco's metaphorical veins. It was a wonder she found this quaint little grocery store in the middle of hell's living room. Honestly, Scarab could have found a more inconspicuous hideout rather than in the dead center of city; as if no one would question the sudden appearance of an enormous pyramid situated ever-so-cleverly smack-bloody-middle on Main Street.  
  
Then again, she mused thoughtfully as she pushed the glass-door open and entered the store, it wouldn't even take a complete moron to figure out Scarab wasn't exactly at his peak of evil genius. He was old and moldy, his frail body disintegrating every hour spent in this pollution-absorbed modern era. He was slowly loosing his mind; gradually growing weaker and less able to even change his form into Harris Stone, a stolen alter ego, without wavering between his true identity. As the weeks wished by, Heka only expected her master to get worse. He would, no matter how many centuries he spent evading it, eventually face death.  
  
And then what would happen to her? She'd be reduced to nothing more than a fancy-looking walking stick on display in a glass-cube in some musty old museum. How difficult was it finally capture this Rapses kid! Him and his rotting guardians who were long since overdue for a bandage change..they were nothing but ragged dolls in fancy armor, after all!  
  
But Heka knew too well that it was far more easier said than done.  
  
Milk, Eggs, Cereal.. Chocolate Chip Cookies?  
  
The little bell above the entrance to the store dinged twice and Heka threw a lazy glance over her shoulder to investigate who it was. Really, it was merely an instinct. Just recently, she had instilled a kitty-bell on Ammut so it would warn her when he was coming--- this way, she was given more of a chance to successfully avoid another pounce and slobber attack.  
  
But she was forced to do a double-take. One of the boys who made his way into the store looked strikingly familiar. Heka was forced to stoop behind the canned-food aisle to avoid being seen. Then again, why exactly was she worried? She looked the part of a normal human being--- why waver in guilt?  
  
But could it possibly be? Heka pretended to busy herself with trying to decided between canned ravioli and regular pasta, her eyes occasionally stealing glances in the direction of the two boys. She caught sight of the familiar, messy auburn hair, the deeply tanned skin, the big, brown eyes, and surely enough, the dangling wadjet amulet around his neck. She nearly jumped in glee; this was him!  
  
Slowly, she maneuvered her way around the aisles and positioned herself as nearly as it was possible to the boy. Heka wasn't quite sure what good it would really do seeing as she couldn't kidnap him in broad daylight in the midst of a grocery store on main street; but perhaps she could gather information about the boy that they currently weren't aware of---his next location, his hobbies, his school..  
  
"So I tell Mr. Huxuly I'm going to need at least an extra weekend in order to the assignment in on time. And he's all like 'three days is a generous time young man, I expect this to be A plus material' and I'm like 'no problem sir.' The black-haired boy nudged Presley in the ribs and then doubled-over in a laugh. "Yeah, like I'm going to do home work over the weekend!"  
  
Presley laughed nervously. He opened the glass-fridge door and selected a pop. "Yeah, a total riot."  
  
"So you're going to the Jones concert this Friday?"  
  
"Definitely. Mom is actually letting me go!"  
  
"Way cool. The only problem is, Eileen's going too."  
  
The other boy's face fell. "Let me guess, she wants to hang with us?"  
  
They walked on over to the counter to pay for their merchandise. Walter nodded gravely as Presley fished for his wallet in the pant-pocket of his khaki shorts. "She's still not over that crush she's got on you. Usually, she's not that much of a total space case."  
  
Presley rolled his eyes, waving that factor off as impossible. "Yeah, right." He paid the Chinese man over the counter and the two of them proceeded towards the door. "She's suckered me into coming to her soccer practice today at 3:00 in St. Argo's park. Come with?"  
  
"Yeah, sure Presley the Brave." Walter laughed. "I'll see if I can squeeze you into my schedule."  
  
The door closed behind them, and Heka could see them walking down the street through the store-window. She immediately deposited both ravioli and pasta cans into her shopping basket and scurried over to the counter. She wasn't sure how this process of paying for one's goods went in the modern world-Heck, she wasn't sure she knew how to count money---but at the moment she didn't particularly care (or notice) that the cashier had only given her a five dollar bill instead of the required ten dollars in change. The words 'St. Argo's Park', '3:00' and 'Presley' had powered an idiotic grin over her unnatural, human face.  
  
End Prologue.  
  
** .Uh oh! I smell trouble!!!  
  
A/N: It's been a long, long time since I've written anything for this fandom. Recently, I've been a little nostalgic about the care-free years of my life when I wasn't completely swamped in school work and was free to watch cartoons, govern websites and write fanfiction all day long. I'm in the process of writing my first TMNT fan fiction (I have loved that show since I was five years old) as a tribute to a returning classic, but I also felt I needed to contribute something to another old favorite. So, this is my salute to an awesome series and the fan community I had the pleasure of being apart of for nearly two and a half years. I dedicate this to all my MA! Buddies; the show is only as alive as the fandom is. Let's spell R-E-S- U-R-R-E-C-T-I-O-N!!! 


End file.
